Dragon Priest - Dragon Paladin
Morrigan Ashwind
Draconis 17:3
And into the skies we fled, for man turned on our souls and became the enemy of the dragons
This is what she will most likely be wearing if you're about to do a W/U in the sands!
"And then I saw a curtain of light, almost as blinding as the snow that cloaked the land."
Morrigan Ashwind was born to serve the Dragons
Warning: This is a partial homebrew, may not match XIV lore
The OathMorrigan was born to a servant woman in Ishgard, the product of a forbidden love. A halfling child—born of Elezen and Hyur blood—she was cast into the harsh realities of the Brume. Her salvation came in the form of a Paladin: a tall, white-furred Hrothgar woman clad in obsidian and silver armor over flowing gowns. Her voice, warm and rich, was Morrigan’s first memory—silken warmth in the endless snow.She was raised by those who worshiped dragons as gods and eventually became one of the very Paladins sworn to protect them—and the people of the lost Landlord Colony in the Churning Mists. There, she trained under the ancient teachings of dragonkind and her shield siblings. As a result, she grew emotionally stunted, unable to grasp the complexities of the world beyond her secluded home.Her unwavering devotion earned her the titles of Dragon Paladin and Dragon Priest, honors that marked her as both protector and teacher of Zenith. A true heretic by Ishgardian standards—cult-bound, even if she didn’t realize it.But the cracks began to show when she and her siblings left Zenith to answer a dragon’s cry.
Morrigan Ashwind was born to serve the Dragons
Warning: This is a partial homebrew, may not match XIV lore
The FractureThe cry belonged to Vrtra, the wyrm thought lost to time. The sound shattered their peace, calling the siblings across the star. For many, it was their first time leaving Zenith since their arrival. Together, they raised their shields to protect Vrtra’s people and aid the adventurers in bringing Azdaja back from the Thirteenth.The battle was hard won, but not without cost. One of the six siblings fell—ashes returned, hearts broken. Morrigan having suffered near mortal wounds, wounds that fractured the very brands written into her aether.Yet before their return, another cry reached Morrigan’s ears. Faint. Desperate.Despite her siblings’ protests, she chose to remain. She would find this dragon.. and learn the truth.What she didn’t expect was the cost. Grief. Loneliness. Uncertainty. But also friendship, strength, and—perhaps—love. Emotions she was both taught to fear and deny. Emotions that made her question is the vows she made were of her own will or that of her keepers.
Morrigan Ashwind was born to serve the Dragons
Warning: This is a partial homebrew, may not match XIV lore
The Fire Within
Morrigan and her siblings are oathbound, their bodies branded with dragonfire—markings that punished deviation from the path chosen for them. Her departure was not in the plan.As she wandered the world—free of her siblings' influence—Morrigan began to blossom. But not without pain. The weight of emotion struck hard. She suffered from what others might name PTSD, though she didn’t understand the term—only the toll it took on her soul.Worse, her brands reacted to these feelings. The magic carved into her flesh would burn and punish when she strayed, whispering that her divergence was a sign of direct betrayal. Burning made worse by the fractures in the spells.For the first time, she questioned the will of the dragons themselves—those who forged her bonds and kept her leashed.And so, she slips further from the woman she was—humanity returning. No longer the devoted hatchling but a growing soul with a mind of her own.
Warning: The path ahead contains truth
SPOILER ALERT
A forbidden history of the Order of Zenith, penned in the twilight of truth.
Attributed to: ???, former Scribe of the Sanctum
Date: Unknown—believed penned shortly after the fall of High Flamebearer Cauldris
The Dreaming Flame
Of the founding, and the sacred breath.
Before Ishgard’s towers rose from frost and stone, there were the Mists. And in the Mists, the Dreamers.They came not as conquerors but as pilgrims—drawn by dreams of winged shapes and fire-warmed nights, by visions of scaled gods who offered peace instead of judgment. These were the Zenithians, the first mortals to settle beneath the shadow of Zenith Spire, cradled in the arms of elder dragons.The wyrms, mourning the Allagan age, sought no empire. They sought harmony. And the Zenithians, tired of war and greed, sought the same.So came the Dragonfire Oath.Those who offered themselves wholly—body, aether, soul—were branded in light, not iron. Their names became echoes. Their hearts beat in tandem with dragonkind. These were the first Scalebound Paladins."To burn with love, not destruction. To serve without self. To die not in darkness, but in flame."
—Oath of the Firstborn, inscribed on the Sanctum GateEach Paladin, upon their waning years, returned their aether willingly. The Rite of Return was no death—it was reclamation. The flame that had been borrowed was given back.In this, the cycle endured. Until it cracked.
The Fractured Nest
Of silence, separation, and the Harvesting Generation.
Time passed. The Mists thinned. Zenith grew quiet.The Order did not falter—but it diminished. Children were fewer. Paladins aged with no successors. The broods grew anxious, and the wyrms watched their flames gutter.Then came High Flamebearer Cauldris—the obsidian-winged one, chosen to carry the will of Zenith beyond the mountains.She returned not with soldiers, but orphans. Children pulled from crumbling villages, forgotten roads, and broken temples. Each bore a spark—aether that resonated with draconic flame.They were not left among the villagers. They were taken directly to the wyrms.The dragons reared them gently, reverently. They were raised in rookeries, taught in scales and whispers, not streets and stories.These children became the Harvesting Generation."They knew no lullabies, only chants. No festivals, only vigils. They laughed, but it echoed too cleanly, too alone."
—Scribbled margin, author unknownThe Harvested were adored—but set apart. They were not touched by snow, nor by hearth. They loved dragons as kin, but knew nothing of being mortal.And when the dragons saw what their presence did—how broods quickened and aether thrived—the purpose shifted.Subtly. Silently.
Ashes Upon the Flame
Of betrayal, unraveling, and the one who asked why.
The war at last reached Zenith—not by sword, but by sound. A wyrm’s cry echoed across the sky like thunder drawn through glass. Not from Zenith’s peaks, but from the shattered lands of Thavnair and Garlemald. It was Vrtra—the lost son, the unseen.The call did not go unheard.All of the dragons, all of the paladins, heard it. Their bones vibrated with it. Their brands sang.There was debate. Long. Fractured. Tense.But in time, the dragons agreed. Five paladins would go.Sverna and Hvrerna, the white and black-furred Hrothgar twins—unshakable, beloved.
Bjarne, the Miqo’te tactician, whose blade was light given form.
Meridian, the quiet Viera seer, keeper of dragondreams.
And Morrigan, youngest of them, flame still soft.They went together. They obeyed.In Garlemald, the End Times raged.There, High Flamebearer Hvrerna fell.In the moment of her death, she chanted the forbidden truths—the deepest names of flame and oath and soul. Her body erupted in dragonfire and corrupted aether, a final sacrifice that annihilated the enemy but left nothing of her behind.The dragons named her Ashen. Not martyred. Not honored.Tainted.And in that judgment, something cracked.They returned triumphant—but not whole. One flame gone. One heart shattered.And yet, on the road home, it happened again.A second call. Fainter. Desperate. Distant.Another dragon in need.The siblings prepared to return to Zenith, to seek counsel and divine permission.But Morrigan did not.She chose to follow.To disobey.For the first time in her life, she walked without a path.“To serve the flame is not to smother the self. This I have learned too late. But perhaps not too late for her.”
—Final page, unsigned
Warning: This is a partial homebrew, may not match XIV lore
Here Lies the Timeline of the Zenithians and the Order of Zenith as well as Important and pertinent Information Regarding the History of the Order
Founding & Purpose (c. 3000 years ago)Era: Between the fall of the Allagan Empire and the beginning of the Dragonsong War—when mortals and dragons lived in uneasy peace.Place: The Churning Mists, in a mountaintop sanctuary known as Zenith.Founding Dragons: Powerful, ancient wyrms seeking peace and preservation of their kind.Touched by dreams, visions, and divine aether, a group of mystics, warriors, and scholars arrived in the Mists. These early settlers were called Zenithians, and their goal was to build a life in harmony with the dragons.
The Dragonfire OathTo bridge mortal and dragon, the dragons created the Dragonfire Oath:A sacred rite in which mortals infused their aether with dragonkind.Those who completed it became Scalebound Paladins—devout protectors, scholars, and spiritual guides.They were granted strength, long life, and a burning aetheric brand—a living connection to their draconic patron.“We are not born—we are called. We do not die—we return.”The Paladins served both people and dragonkind: tending eggs, defending broods, healing the sick, and maintaining peace between species.
The Cycle of Flame – Life, Service, ReturnPaladins who took the Oath were considered reborn—not merely mortal, but living vessels of dragon aether.Upon reaching a certain age (~40–50 years), Paladins were expected to perform the Rite of Return:They would ascend the Spire of Reclamation and offer their life willingly to the dragon they served.Their soul would be absorbed into the dragon’s breath, believed to echo forever within them.This cycle preserved balance and aether, and was seen as the highest form of service.Those who refused were branded Ashen—cut off from the aetheric bond, and left to decay in pain.
The War Era & Brood-Bond Discovery (~300–200 years ago)As the Dragonsong War spread, Zenith remained isolated… until they discovered a vital truth:Broods raised in proximity to bonded Paladins hatched stronger, smarter, and more powerful.The blending of mortal soul and dragon aether created ideal conditions for incubation.The Paladins became essential to the dragons—not just as caretakers, but as aetheric incubators for future generations.This transformed their sacred duty into something more... pragmatic. Strategic.
The Harvesting Generation (~50 years before the war’s end)As the Zenithian colony waned—its population dwindling, its children fewer—the Elder Dragons sought to preserve their legacy by unconventional means.The Paladin leader, High Flamebearer Cauldris, was sent beyond the Mists to search for orphans bearing aether compatible with dragonkind.These children, plucked from war, ruin, and loneliness, were brought to Zenith and initiated through sacred rites.Thus was born the Harvesting Generation—not born of Zenith, but chosen for it.Unlike those before them, these Paladins were raised among dragons more than mortals:Their formative years were spent in rookeries, in crystal halls, and under the watchful eyes of wyrms.They were loved, nurtured, and shaped—not cruelly, but reverently.The dragons treated them as precious vessels, extensions of their will, and not as equals among the people.This reverence came at a cost:The Harvested rarely interacted with the broader Zenithian colony.They did not grow alongside mortal peers, did not hear laughter around a fire, or scrape their knees in village streets.Their humanity was dulled, not through abuse—but through distance. A quiet, tender kind of isolation.They grew into Paladins of exceptional strength and discipline—emotionally stunted, yet fiercely devoted. They saw dragons as gods, not companions. And while the people of Zenith still revered their protectors, a subtle fracture began to form.Among them were the Hrothgar twins—one of whom would rise to guide the next generation. One of whom would become Morrigan’s savior.They were the last bright flame before the dark.
The Great Betrayal (10–15 years before the war’s end)Some Elder Dragons, embittered by the war and growing weary from isolation, began preparing a new wave of broods—not to defend, but to destroy. Zenith would become a breeding ground for revenge, not sanctuary. Time had begun to destroy the very minds of the creatures who once wanted nothing but peace.Paladins were raised solely for the aetheric benefits they gave the unborn.Rites of Return became less sacred, more sacrificial. Aether incubated inside a Paladin would drastically increase the strength of a dragon once absorbed.Some dragons began consuming their Paladins before the Rite, prematurely, violently. Hungry for the power needed to finally depart from the Spire.Dissenting Paladins who tried to speak out were silenced, vanished, or executed as traitors.Zenith, once a haven of peace, became a cultic engine of quiet horror—still draped in holy rituals, but hollowed out inside.
Race: Half Elezen - Hyur
Age: 28
Gender: Female
Height: 5'2''
Weight: 130
General Attitude:
Calm, soft spoken, level headed, motherly. Easygoing.She wears her hair in a long, loose braid—black streaked with deep red, or falling down her back in heavy strands. Her eyes are a soft, winter-blue, the kind that reveal more than she says, betraying the quiet churn of thought and feeling beneath her silence. A dragon’s silhouette coils in ink along the left side of her face, stark against her skin, and just below her right eye sits a solitary mole. Her lips are painted a muted maroon, a shade echoed in the faint liner that frames her eyes—sharp, purposeful, never gaudy.Though slight in stature, Morrigan is not easily felled. Her frame, honed by years of ritual training and battlefield trial, carries a strength earned rather than granted. Every movement is efficient—no wasted motion, no softness spared for comfort.True to her vows, she dresses with deliberate modesty. Her garments always veil her skin, a quiet act of devotion to her Order and its disciplines. Rarely can she be caught in a revealing top as she wanders around the Sands in the evening as she works to stay cool in the heat. But beneath those layers lies a history etched in flesh: an array of scars—some clean and deliberate from battle, others ragged and uneven, the lingering ghosts of fire. The brand does not fade. The pain does not leave. But she carries both with grace.
Fighting Style: Swordplay, hand to hand
Education: Full knowledge on Dragon history, survivalist, homesteading, basic medical
Languages: Common, Dragonspeak, Garlean
Likes: Sweets, even temperatures, linen clothes, the smell of herbs
Dislikes: liars, the heat, being rushedLoves... male miqo'te, male hrothgar, male elezen...
The Morrigan, Morri
She/her
Age: 28
Status: TakenRoleplay Style: Literate/Novella/ Discord (after established W/U)Disclaimer: I rarely do group role-play and I rarely hold extended role-play in-game as it tends to be very restrictive to my writing style and my schedule. I prefer to write in Discord, and will often use in-game for walk-ups, to work on my writing style or find more things to add to my current 'arcs'.Genres: Adventure, High Fantasy, Worldbuilding, Homebrew, Slice of life, Romance, Dark ThemesNo triggers
No random ERPI'm pretty easy going, but have a lot of boundaries that I wish to be respected. I've been role playing since I was thirteen, so well over ten years. I've seen it all, written most, and have learned a lot along the way. Especially that role-play is not that serious and just because someone role-plays a way unlike your own, it doesn't mean it's the wrong way.Remember, we are not our characters. What Morrigan says or does is not a reflection of me. Just as your character is not a reflection of you.
